My Fair Lady Ascot to Brighton
by Teacher on Toast
Summary: In the musical and the play, Eliza gives Higgins back the ring he allegedly got her from Brighton before she leaves him. But how did this come about, exactly, and what happened in this unexplained six weeks between Ascot and the Embassy Ball? COMPLETE
1. On The Street Where She Lives

Disclaimer: I do not own My Fair Lady or any of its characters. Sure wish I did, though! 

The light was fading dimmer, and shadows cast themselves outside. Although lamplight glowed in every corner, the three characters at the table of number 27A Wimpole Street were not secluded from darkness. Eliza subconsciously held her knife and fork poised above her plate and cast downwards a gaze with the same emptiness, yet a mind bloated with images. She did not glance up when she heard the discreet chink as Higgins neatly placed his used utensils side-by-side. Her head felt heavy, even after she had long removed that hat, and stray wisps of hair lingered around her face in an unruly manner. She frowned through her tired brown eyes and took a slow intake of breath as if about to speak, then breathed out again. Her face contorted. The black and white ribbon seemed to bind her tightly to the dress so that the lace and stiff seams dug into her skin. She dropped her shoulders, took another breath and started:

"So I suppose now Ascot's over and done with, you expect me to fail, then live when you throw me away like some old coat that doesn't fit?"

Focusing his concentration upon refolding his napkin, Higgins raised only his eyebrows in apparent concern to reply matter-of-factly, "What drives you to imagine such a thing? Of course not, Eliza! Why, when I'm finished prepping you up, you'll be 'how do you do-ing' and 'I beg your pardon-ing' as well as any Princess." The corners of his lips curled in a mixture of discreet glee and amusement as he glanced up at her. "I'll make a Queen of you, Eliza!"

"Oh, do try to be practical, Higgins." Broke in Pickering after taking another sip of his tea, "It does no good to fill the girl with false hope," he sighed. Henry appeared oblivious to the words of the old man. Pickering brushed his grey moustache lightly. It was thin; as was the short, silvery hair which covered his head. Colonel Pickering was tall and thin himself; he had grown seemingly frail since he had left his regiment.

Higgins continued without looking up at Pickering or Eliza as he talked. He brushed his fingernails against the side of his shirt and surveyed them vainly. "Don't worry about things of such little significance. After all, I'm quite certain that after living in a dustbin for some time within the region of twenty years, to be welcomed into a decent home can be rather daunting. Why, if I were in Eliza's place, the very prospect of an Embassy Ball would do more than lift my spirits."

Eliza frowned, and her knife and fork fell to the plate with a clatter. "You two don't care, do you? You can both talk about me as if I wasn't here - you don't care or think of what you've forced on me, then watch me use it to humiliate myself! You act as if Ascot never happened!"

"Of course," Higgins began, "It happened. That is a fact which cannot be denied, but what can, is whether it is worth dwelling upon. No use crying over spilt milk, is there?"

Eliza stared. She clenched her fists. "So that's all I am to you, is it? Spilt milk?"

"Well, to a certain degree - "

"Higgins!" Pickering raised his voice and stood up. Higgins rose tersely.

"It must not be mistaken that her purpose here is only -"

"Higgins!"

" - but that's beside the point. Of course, the disaster that happened should be noted upon, but it must be remembered that - "

"Higgins!" Eliza sighed, placing her head in her hands.

" - And furthermore - "

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Silence.

"Mrs Pearce!" called Higgins.

Silence fell again, as the three stared down at their feet. Higgins swallowed.

"Eliza." Eliza looked up at him, the corners of her mouth down-turned, her eyes like glass. "Eliza, do you wish to be a lady?"

"Yes, Professor Higgins," she stated coldly.

"Then I pray you tell me what your problem is."

Eliza spoke slowly, casting him a sideways glance. "Problem? I don't have a problem. I believe that it's you with the problem, Henry Higgins: treating me like dirt, taunting me with this and with that, forcing me to speak properly then making an embarrassment of me when I get it wrong and then telling me not to cry over spilt milk! You can throw it all back at me now, Henry Higgins, but it's not my fault and don't you forget it!"

"Yes, Mrs Pearce?" Professor Higgins turned away to the maid standing in the doorway. Mrs Pearce's white hair was never seen outside its neat bun; her pinafore was always creaseless. She held a bouquet of yellow roses in a gloved hand and proceeded to speak.

"A young man is standing outside. He wishes to speak to Eliza - " Higgins smiled, eyeing the flowers.

"Men will be shooting themselves for your sake, Eliza. Did I not say they would? Now, with some manners, grammar and a little patience, I will succeed in making you a Duchess. Continue, Mrs Pearce." Eliza stared deeply, her fists still clenched tightly. Pickering stood behind her and touched her arm, but she shrugged him off.

" - and he bade me give her these." Mrs Pearce handed the roses to Eliza. Eliza just stared in silence, holding the roses. Her body relaxed, as she said not a word, but gazed at the gift that she was presented with. Two petals fell to the floor and the leaves drooped flimsily. Yes, these were Covent Garden roses to the bone; wilting in tired, brown paper, with even spots on the stem where thorns had been roughly picked off by idle flower girls. Not unlike herself, she thought. Yes, a thorn in everyone's side, to be picked off and discarded when this prince charming finds out that his duchess is little more than the city rats who sold him them. A tear welled in her eye and she glared hatefully at the Professor.

"To hell with the flowers, and to hell with him!" She cried, "You go and tell him, Mrs Pearce, that I don't bloody want no flowers, and I don't bloody want no more bloody men! I don't want to speak to anybody ever again!" Mrs Pearce flinched. Pickering brought his hand to his face and Higgins folded his arms.

"Right away, ma'am." With as much as a nod, Mrs Pearce departed briskly.

"Eliza, do sit down," Pickering comforted her, ushering her towards the armchair. "Allow me to make you a cup of - "

"And I don't want no bloody tea, neither!" She stormed up the staircase in tears and slammed the door shut. Higgins and Pickering looked to the floor, then at one another.

"Higgins, I have my doubts." Higgins sighed, unfolding his arms.

"Pickering, all is not lost because of a slight slip of the tongue. It just needs a little more training, that's all."

"Some joke that may turn out to be! I say that we should call off the whole bet. She's been put though enough pain already." Pickering proceeded to climb the staircase after Eliza and closed the door carefully. Higgins was alone. Watching Mrs Pearce pace past, shaking her head to turn into another doorway, Higgins spoke.

"Pickering, I also have my doubts about Eliza."


	2. Impeccable

6:00 PM. The two days that had passed since Ascot had felt like years. Years of solitary confinement; a punishment for expressing herself so freely that night. Mrs Pearce led a pale, tearstained Eliza by the hand, down the stairs. She patted the girl's shoulder comfortingly. Higgins sat almost embedded into his chair, unmoving at her presence. Pickering made as if to rush to her side, but the Professor shook his head. Nobody spoke. 

"Well, go on, girl," Mrs Pearce broke in, "Tell him what you've come for." Eliza turned her weary head towards the maid and stared at her helplessly. Mrs Pearce gave a nod.

"Well – I... I..." Eliza stopped. The Professor responded as little as to bat an eyelid. The colonel walked over to her and looked at her face. He touched her cheek briefly and joined her at her side. "I – thank you Pickering – I was – I mean..." Higgins interrupted.

"It could be assumed that you are trying to give an apology, but you appear to be having a little trouble." Higgins spoke calmly, "Am I right?" Eliza felt a tear welling inside her.

"I suppose you expect me to answer 'yes' and give you the glory of another victory? Besides, what else could I answer; how else can I answer; why else should I answer?" She cried, defeatedly. Higgins smiled and rose from his chair. He walked slowly towards her.

"If I had the heart, I'd mention that you share the same gift of rhetoric as your father: what else could you answer; how else could you answer and why else could you answer."

"You obviously do, then," she retorted.

"Indeed, I do not," Corrected Higgins, "Hence why the most adequate answer to give me was 'no' as opposed to 'yes'." Eliza frowned in disbelief. Suddenly, she broke off.

"Then why am I here? What have you sent me for?" she winced. The Professor, however, retired to his chair.

"Higgins, do be reasonable. Do you not think that some form of apology is due?" Pickering explained earnestly.

"Eliza, an apology on your part would be graciously accepted." He spoke calmly, oblivious to Pickering, "I refuse to see what could have possibly provoked you to do such a thing, however Eliza, if an undeserved apology from myself is what is required to improve our terms socially, then so be it." The professor said in a raised voice. A smile crept upon Eliza's face and she chuckled at her own victory. She glanced at Pickering, who smiled back. She wiped the tears from her face as she worded her reply carefully.

"Then as undeserving as I am, I accept your apology gracefully, if that will return us to being on good terms once again."

"Good. Now, about these etiquette lessons..." Eliza's heart warmed, and another glance in the Colonel's direction told her that he was as relieved as she was. Higgins' burbling seemed to flow over her head. She laughed inwardly at his boyish arrogance – he was so determined not to lose face, as always. It would be just like the good old days, as she knew that he'd forget all about it.Henry Higgins was not one to hold grudges, and shewas certain of it.She began to wonder if he even realised that he'd lost. Typical. Suddenly, the Professor's voice was back again. "...will walk together. Go on," he instructed. Eliza did not move. "Eliza, if you wish to become a lady, you will do as you are told. You are to walk into the Dining Room under Pickering's arm, as if walking into a fine restaurant. Do it now, Eliza." Pickering took Eliza's arm as they walked through the door. "No – no, stop!" Called Higgins, pacing after them, shaking his head. The two returned to the hall, to face the Professor. "Walk with a little grace, Eliza. And for heaven's sake, take that ridiculous grin from your face. Ladies do not grin, they smile politely." Eliza chuckled again as she proceeded with Pickering.

The tablecloth covered the legs of the table, and seemed whiter than usual; even the wood of the chairs had an extra shine in the light. The room had been cleaned from top to bottom. All papers from the shelves had been removed. "How kind of you to let me come," Eliza beamed as Pickering pulled the chair out for her to sit down.

"Eliza, the phrase you are searching for this time is "How kind of you to invite me to join you tonight."," the Professor corrected. "Pickering is not merely allowing you to come, but requested that you come. Say it."

"How kind of you to invite me to join you tonight," Eliza enunciated perfectly.

"Not bad," Higgins commented as a sharply dressed servant entered with the starter dishes. Eliza took her knife and fork and began to saw into the food on the plate to her right. Higgins stopped her. "Eliza, it is common courtesy to wait for your fellow diners to begin before you do. Your plate is the one to your left, and use the utensils furthest from the centre of your place." Eliza waited before picking up the smaller knife and fork. She took a mouthful of food.

"UGHHH, this is disgusting!Youtry it - I've never tasted anything like this in my life." She exclaimed in horror at the Professor. Pickering looked away.

"Eliza, you do not make such comments, neither do you offer the food to anyone else. You merely leave the plate where it is, and place your utensils together across it, like so." Higgins sighed and placed his utensils neatly on his place as Eliza copied his every move. "You should also know not to speak with your mouth full," he informed.

"Garn! I'm not a lady yet, you know!" Eliza laughed incredulously as she swallowed her mouth full of food.

"And the poor excuses for words such as 'garn' should not be uttered, either; neither at the table or anywhere else for that matter."

"Why not?" She remarked.

"Eliza, they are insults to the majesty of the English language – Eliza I need to show you. Tomorrow, if in the course of tonight's meal you follow my every instruction, you will find yourself dining in the seaside town of Brighton." Eliza's eyes opened wide.

"In a big restaurant?" She stared in awe at the Professor. He smiled back at her.

"By George Eliza – whisked away in a taxi, you shall be dining in the largest and finest restaurant overlooking the Brighton Pier; beautifully dressed. Eliza, you will be impeccable."


	3. Taxi Rides and Unexpected Visitors

A/N: Thanks for all of your lovely reviews, people! Keep them coming! I WILL get on to actually being IN Brighton, but there needs to be a bit of prep. first, of course. Thanks for pointing out those typos – I edited them. I know that it's impossible not to eat with your mouth full – sorry about that! But they will get to Brighton eventually, honest. I've got it half-planned already! Cya peeps! 

A taxi drawn by an elegant, brown horse stood outside 27A Wimpole Street, with the door open; ready. The dapperly dressed driver had turned from the front of his seat to chat to Pickering in a casual tone. Not quite cockney, mused Pickering. Suddenly, he stopped his musings. Good Lord, this whole project must be making an impression on me, he thought, before turning back to concentrate upon the driver. "Erm, yes, very nice - indeed. Sorry sir; I didn't quite catch that. Where do you come from, perchance?..."

Up a small flight of white steps leading to the front door, stood the Professor. He leaned against the door, glancing at his watch every few minutes. "Eliza, if you don't come out of there soon, the taxi may very well leave without you." He sighed for the umpteenth time with a hint of fatigue in his voice. He stumbled slightly as the door opened behind him. Asserting himself, he chastised "It would be about time."

"A lady has to prepare herself before going out, Professor Higgins. I may never see another mirror before we arrive." Eliza replied primly, trying to stifle a grin.

"Can't all of that shilly-shallying that be done in the taxi? If the taxi driver is of the decent sort, he shouldn't object to sharing a mirror with you." He remarked off-handedly. Eliza snorted.

"Ladies do not snort, Eliza!" He scolded. "Come on, the taxi is about to leave." Eliza nodded and followed. Her coat flowed behind her as she descended the steps. It was a soft shade of pink, but not salmon. The colour and the fur trim around the hem and cuffs of the sleeves matched perfectly with that on the rim of her hat. The coat was long and elegant; it seemed to hug her body perfectly, and the whites of her dainty shoes, elegant gloves and handbag were spotless.

A slight, young man dressed smartly in a light jacket and top hat stood at the corner and stared out at the scene before him. His eyes sparkled as they seemed to dart from one of the three to the other, then back to Eliza again, and a growing urge accumulated inside him to walk over, though he resisted it. In the distance, he could see the taxi driver climb from his seat to the ground to meet the two men, and Eliza hanging around sheepishly. He picked his moment and walked briskly down the pavement, still smiling.

"Pay attention Eliza," Higgins informed. There seems to be a slight problem with the taxi; nothing too much to worry about. A taxi can only accommodate two..." Suddenly, he was interrupted.

"Eliza! Darling, you look beautiful," he exclaimed moving in close and touching her arm, his breathing still not returned to normal.

"Er, thank you Freddie," she smiled weakly, glancing at the Professor and the Colonel anxiously, then back again repeatedly. Freddie gave a confused frown, and she continued. "Ah, erm, how nice to see you, er, Freddie. What brings you here tonight?" she enquired loudly, breaking slowly away.

"Oh, Eliza, I just saw you standing there dressed so beautifully and I just felt so strongly compelled to say..." Eliza closed her eyes to evade what she knew was coming next.

"Er-hem!" coughed Higgins, "As I was saying, a taxi can accommodate two people only. Eliza, you will have to travel on your own," he said abruptly. Eliza's face fell. Higgins watched and continued. "Eliza, if you are to be a lady, you are not to be trifled by such matters. Pickering, go find her a cab," he concluded sharply.

"But Higgins, do be reasonable; she may become lonely," Pickering protested.

"The fact remains, Pickering, that one of us will have to go alone," Higgins persisted, unaffected by Pickering's argument, "And besides, Eliza is not merely a girl anymore; it will be good practice for her to learn how to take care of herself."

"But she is a lady," the Colonel objected. The taxi driver rolled his eyes.

"Could you please make up your minds?" he sighed, "Brighton is a while away, and I don't want to finish too late tonight." Higgins frowned in disgust. Suddenly, Freddie came forwards.

"I might be headed for Brighton, too; it is a pleasant tonight. I wouldn't mind sharing a taxi with Eliza," he suggested hopefully. The taxi driver replied before the Professor could open his mouth in disapproval.

"Great idea, young man, I don't know why I hadn't thought of it earlier. Right then – Colonel, is it?" he questioned. Pickering nodded. "Climb aboard." The Colonel stepped up to the carriage and sat down. "You two will have to find yourselves a taxi," the driver spoke down to Eliza and Freddie. "And you – Sir – are you coming aboard?" he gestured to Higgins. The Professor did not turn around. "Hello - Sir?"

"Higgins," prompted Pickering. The Professor paused briefly, then silently turned to board the taxi. He shut the door slowly. The cab jolted forwards away from 27A Wimpole Street as the 'clip-clop' of horses' hooves echoed, and Higgins stole a last glance out of the window. Pickering watched his companion, thenproceeded to speak."Higgins – are you all right?" he asked, leaning in. The Professor spun around tersely.

"I? Do I not look all right to you?" he retorted hotly.

"Of course, Higgins, of course you look fine... but is there anything the matter?"

"Nothing that you should be concerned about," replied Higgins. Pickering remained quiet for a few minutes, and the Professor returned to his window, then back again, apparently dissatisfied. "Pickering, what do you think of Eliza? After all, she has become quite the lady, despite that little slip- up at Ascot. Resembles little of what she came as, thanks to my hard and strenuous work."

"Indeed. But I am yet to see the day when the streets are strewn with the body shooting themselves for her sake, as you put it, Higgins."

"Freddie seemed interested in sharing a taxi with her," he commented quietly, "He seems to have taken a shine to her," Higgins spoke softly to the window.

"Higgins," The Colonel quickly changed the subject of the conversation, "Seeing as she's improved so much, why don't you thank her, you know, with a little gift or something to let her know how grateful you are? After all, our work would have been nothing had she not made an effort herself," he reasoned. Higgins raised his voice.

"Pickering, I have transformed Eliza from a prisoner of the gutter to a free and potentially charming young lady. I'd doubt that she'd even know what to do with any form of gift," He remarked. "Anyway, what was it that you had in mind?" Not expecting a reply, Pickering hesitated.

"Well, I don't know, maybe something special ... jewellery, maybe? Ladies like jewellery," Pickering reassured gingerly.

"I might consider it," pondered Higgins carefully, "Perhaps at this present time, all things in our current situation considered, some sort of encouragement is due."


	4. An Illegitimate Rendez Vous?

The two men stepped out of the carriage. "That'd be a shilling," the taxi driver reminded them. 

"Of course," Spoke Pickering, rummaging in his pockets, then handing over the coins. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he said, "Hope your trip goes well, especially for your friend and his – er – lady." Higgins smiled in agreement. "I've got to go; it's a long journey home. Walk on, Casper," he gave the horse a nudge with the whip, and it began to walk. "And thanks for your company," He called back as it clopped down the street. The Professor and the Colonel watched silently as the silhouette faded into the distance. The street was shadowed, and the tall shops and closely packed houses created a trench to hide the view of the promenade. The sunset seeped into the shops at the end of the road, and a sign reading "Thornton's Confectionary" reflected the red blaze, which danced in tiny droplets upon the worn cobbles. Surrounded by brick flats and housing stood a small florist's shop (where Eliza might soon be working if this whole experiment works, Pickering thought.), next to a pokey little apothecary. It was hidden away; half embedded into the wall so that it stood back from the rest of the shops. The brick floors of the flats above it created a shelter in front of the shop; just large enough to stand in when rain came, and two walls were built either side of the shop to support the above floors. A small footpath led off the other side of the apothecary into a hidden-away yard behind the various shops and houses. Higgins's eye was caught by a sign gleaming in the light, on the other side of the footpath. It read "Buckingham Jewellers". Higgins was the first to speak.

"Now, Pickering, where the devil could those two be?" he wondered aloud.

"Eliza might not have arrived yet, Higgins. Indeed, it is a fine night; the taxi service must have a lot of business today," he reasoned.

"Oh." Higgins paused. "Pickering, about this 'gift' you were mentioning on the way," he began.

"Yes?" he answered in anticipation.

"What was it again, which you supposed that we should give her?"

"Well – " the Colonel coughed, "Something small, and something that she would like. Something beautiful. Like jewellery perhaps." He added. The Professor nodded in approval.

"So, would that particular shop not be considered appropriate?" Higgins gestured to the Jeweller's.

"Of course. What a brilliant idea! I begin to wonder why I had not thought of it myself – Higgins?" He called until he saw the Professor turn into the shop entrance. "Oh. Okay, I'm – I'm coming," Pickering murmured to himself as he walked over. The shop seemed to have reason to be almost hidden down the street off the promenade: shelves upon shelves of glittering jewels in stones gleamed before the Professor and the Colonel. Pickering marvelled at a particularly extravagant pearl necklace, but Higgins nudged him and spoke in an agitated undertone:

"Pickering; we will go about this business as quickly as possible. There is no time for shilly-shallying! Now, what do you suppose I should get her?" he spoke in a low tone.

"Uh, um... something small and attractive-looking, maybe," he replied hesitantly, "Something 'pretty'," he summarized in a low whisper.

"Excuse me, Sir, may I help you?" Spoke a monotone voice from behind the counter to Pickering.

"Yes –"Pickering spoke out "Yes, we're looking for something for... er... Higgins?" He motioned uncomfortably to the Professor to continue.

"A small gift for a fair lady." Higgins announced confidently with a slight nod.

"A small gift, you say?" The tall, dapperly dressed man inquired in interest, "For a 'fair lady', as you put it, Sir?" He smiled through his thin lips. "I think I know what you might be looking for." Delicate fingers unveiled a box upon the counter top. He carefully opened the lid. Pickering gasped, but the Professor remained unmoved. "18 Carat gold; available in diamond, emerald, sapphire, ruby or opal," he stated proudly with a professional air to his voice. Higgins looked at Pickering, and Pickering took his turn to speak.

"I personally prefer the diamond. I always thought that diamonds looked most beautiful," he advised, "And they say that diamonds are a lady's best friend."

"Do they, now, Pickering?" he asked nonchalantly. He turned back to the man. "Yes, the diamond ring would be splendid," Higgins confirmed.

"That would be seventy pounds, Sir." The shopkeeper informed.

"Seventy pounds..." the Professor repeated. "Seventy pounds, yes, indeed." He reached inside his coat and unzipped an inner pocket, producing a small, leather wallet. He counted the notes feverishly. "... fifty; sixty; seventy pounds exactly." He handed the money over the counter tersely in exchange for a small, brown box.

"Thank you for visiting Buckingham Jewellers." The Professor nodded and turned for the door. "Oh, and another thing," the shopkeeper grinned sheepishly, "I wish you and your fair lady the best of luck, Sir." After exchanging shrugs and puzzled frowns, Pickering and Higgins departed.

They could hear a bell jingle as the door shut. "Thank heavens that's all over and done with," Higgins said as he rummaged in his inner coat pocket to find space for the little brown box, to find that the height of the box was such that it wouldn't fit without forming a considerable cubic bulge in his coat. "Pickering, by any chance would you have somewhere to put this?" he asked, searching his trousers for other pockets, but to no avail.

"Certainly, Higgins. My coat pocket is rather deep," he explained.

"Good, good. Take care of it, Pickering," cautioned the Professor.

"Of course; of course,"

"Good." Higgins broke off, and glanced around. "Haven't those two arrived yet?" he complained, starting to walk up to the promenade. Pickering followed.

"I've not seen them, but it has been almost half an hour. I would have thought that they'd have arrived by now," he agreed. Higgins stopped at the end of the road, and Pickering stopped with him. "Pleasant view, isn't it?"

"Indeed, Pickering. Pickering, why don't you go and find them? Eliza's taxi could have stopped anywhere around here; the pier is a rather common place to stop. I'll wait here, in case she happens to slip by," he added. Pickering nodded, and set off to plod down the road. "Do take care of the ring, Pickering," the professor worded to himself.

"I hope that you and your gentleman enjoy your trip, Miss," spoke the driver as Eliza helped Freddie out of the carriage.

"Thank you," she replied, as the wheels of the carriage began to turn and the taxi headed away down the promenade. To her right stood Brighton pier, upon which were various tents and marquees, including a large circus marquee and the shadowy shape of a helter-skelter ride. "The fair looks interesting," Eliza noted as Freddy observed.

"Positively spiffing, isn't it? I would be delighted to take a closer look." As the sun drew closer to the horizon, the pier began to empty, however, the aroma of candyfloss and the sweetness of the rock lingered in the air. The floor was littered with paper, and the last of the children's swings came to rest. There was the occasional chink of coins as Freddie and Eliza passed each stall, and the coconut shy was being packed away. "Shame," commented Freddie gingerly, "That was always my favourite game." Suddenly, there was a smash from one of the tents, followed by a loud cursing. Both Freddie and Eliza chuckled. She tried to scold herself: ladies do not laugh at such things, were the words of the professor imprinted into her mind. However, she gave in for once; the professor was not here to see her and reprimand her now. She glanced at him and caught his eye and theylaughed again. Suddenly, she stumbled. She felt a pair of gentle arms catch her. They had a soft warmth, holding her trembling body tightly, and she began to relax from her laughter. She smiled contentedlyfor a moment. A gentle breeze siftedthrough the wisps of hair hanging outside her hat and a seagull cried overhead.He held her tightly and nuzzled his head into the soft fur trim around her jacket, but a moment was all she would allow herself, andit hadpassed already passed. She shifted uncomfortably as she watched herself,clad in the arms of Freddie Einstford-Hill, alone together in the light of the sunset on Brighton Pier.Her mind was cast back to the Colonel Pickering and the Professor, whom were undoubtedlyin search ofher and growing increasinglyconcerned.Her thoughts were interrupted as Freddie released her and spokewith a satisfied sigh. "Miss Dolittle, you really do have the right sense of humour. I don't think I've ever met a lady who can laugh at such things," he chortled, glancing for her approval.

"Thank you, Freddie," she replied in a serious tone.

"Eliza, darling, whatever is the matter," asked Freddie, "You were laughing with me just before."

"I'm fine; it's nothing," she dismissed, trying to walk away up the pier. Maybe if she lost him, she could find Pickering and the Professor. But Freddie was so kind; so young, and he meant well. Perhaps another moment wouldn't hurt, she reasoned. He caught her hand, and she turned back to him.

"You can tell me if there's something wrong, sweetheart," he spoke softly, taking both her hands. She flinched slightly, but he did not let go. "Eliza, I pray you tell me what it is."

"Well," she began uncomfortably, looking away from his face, "It's just that... I don't know you very well – I've only seen you at that disaster at Ascot - and I came with Professor Higgins and Colonel Pickering," she explained.

"I know, Eliza, but why? Why do you tell me this?"

"I shouldn't be here," she said coldly.

"I... I understand," he spoke. "But Eliza, you can't begin to understand how I feel," he began, "And for all my efforts to put it in words, I find myself having failed. Miss Dolittle, do have patience with my eforts! You see, the birds sing sweeter when you are near; the skies turn bluer, and –"

"But they're red!" Eliza corrected. Freddie smiled at his own error.

"Oh, yes, of course, in the evening. But you don't understand, Eliza." Eliza smiled. Suddenly a flurry of words escaped his lips: "I feel the sun warmer on my face when I think of you, and suddenly I notice the flowers around me that I'd never noticed before; the trees are filled with the youngest green; the wind rustling gently in their leaves reminds me so much of your voice, and suddenly the world is full of – "

"Freddie, get to the point!" she giggled.

"The world is full of happiness when you are around. Suddenly I feel I'm not alone any more; I'm flying free like a swan over a lake of diamond -"

"You'll never be free as a swan if you don't stop crooning like a pigeon! Just say it," she teased playfully. 'Crooning like a pigeon', she thought. She pushed the twinge of guilt away. There was a time and place for repentance.

"... but all I really mean is, Eliza,"

"Yes?"

"I know that you have commitments, but if you could, I just want to tell you the truth..." he paused.

"Go on, Freddie," she encouraged. She knew what was coming. Excitement bubbled inside her. He drew her closer and held her hands tightly. He gazed into her eyes.

"I hope you don't mind, and it might be difficult to say – please don't call me a fool, Eliza – but with all my heart I've yearned just wanting to tell you -" he paused again.

"Eliza, Higgins and I have been worried about you! Where the devil have you... sorry – er, Eliza, is this a bad time?"


	5. A Little Bit O' Luck

Both Pickering and Eliza were silenced as he led her off the pier. There was nothing to be said. As Pickering touched the little brown box in his pocket, his mind filled with doubt. The sun was almost set; he'd have to say something to Higgins to excuse the fact that they were late. Then it would be all up to the Professor to pass judgement. Of course, Pickering reminded himself, it would be quite immoral not to mindhis own business in times like this, as it would be equally, if not more immoral to lie, buthe feared that Higgins' reaction to the truth towards the girl could be positively sinful. The Colonel looked down on Eliza tagging behind him, and slowed slightly. 

"Eliza!" came a familiar cockney voice, "Whu' are you doin' 'ere dahn in Brigh'on?"

"Good evening, Father," she said solemnly, "How do you do," she asked almost instinctively.

"Mr Alfred Dolittle – I believe we have met before!" Said Pickering half jubilantly, shaking his hand. At that moment, Eliza was sure that she had heard something clatter on the floor, but said nothing, after all, it was most certainly not ladylike to poke one's nose into others' business.

"How am I doin'? Alrigh', ah s'pose," he said abruptly, shrugging.

"What business have you here, then, Mr Dolittle?" the Colonel inquired politely in the hopes of stepping up the pace of the conversation.

"Ah, now there's the crime, Gav'nah. You ask if whut 'business' wot ah've got 'ere, in all poli'ness an' ah'm expected ter say somethin' as polite. Leads a man nowhere, that don't. Whut ah say is, if ye can't say nuthin' worth it, don't say nuthin' at all. See, Eliza, that's wot bloomin' middle class morali'y does ter yah, with all this ''ow do yer do' an' ''ow kahnd of you ter let me cahm' an' all of tha' rubbish, when in reali'y, you couldn' give a brass farthin'. An' anyway -"

"But Father, what do you intend to do in Brighton?" Eliza interrupted.

"As if yer wouldn' know! Brigh'on's a big place – more drinks an' girls in a Brigh'on pub than tha' place on Totten'am Court Road.. So fer one nigh' ah thought ter mahself, Alfie Doolittle, why not? Yer only got one life; migh' as well make the best of it."

"That's an, er, interesting philosophy," Pickering hesitated, "I er, never came to think of it like that."

"Well, as ah said before, Gov, ah hain't got no money fer no morals. Ah'm the undeserving poor, as ah'm sure ye remember me sayin'. An' ah'm 'appy like tha'," he said honestly.

"Well it got you your five pounds out of me, didn't it Dad?" Eliza spoke remorsefully.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Pickering, "We forgot about Higgins! He will be waiting."

"Well, bye Dad."

"Cheerio, Eliza, Gov!" he called after the fading Eliza and Pickering. "Middle class morali'y," he grumbled to himself kicking a stone across the floor, "They call a poor man like me dishones'," he spoke to the sky, before looking down to kick another stone, "It's wot makes a man dishones', all tha' 'bein' polite' stuff," he kicked another stone, "It's all jus' a pack a lies, the lot of it. Lord above 'elp Eliza with all tha' rabble." The next stone was heavier than the rest. And bigger. And... brown. Dolittle picked it up and opened the lid of a little brown box. Well, ah'll be damned. A dahmon' ring, he smiled to himself. Well, it don't belong to nowhan, so ah suppose ah can just tike it. But a dahmon' ring is sahmthin' expensive. Nah, ferget it, Alfie, if ye turned it in, it would only go ter some filthy rich warden who dahsn't need it. Ah'm the undeservin' poor, but ah deserve a little bit o' luck once in a while. After all, a gem like this could be worth the whole pub. But nah, ah'm not a greedy man. It'd mike me a bloomin' hypocrite. Nah, another five pahnds would do me a night, ah fink.

Suddenly, he felt something push into his side and turned around,

"Watch where ya goin', dreamer!" he remarked to the young man.

"Terribly sorry, Sir," he apologised earnestly, "Are you all right?"

"There ya go again. A prime example of middle class morali'y for yer." The man gave a puzzled look, then smiled politely.

"Of course, Sir," he replied.

"See, there's another one. You don't know whu ah'm talkin' abou', do ya, chuck?"

Freddie resigned himself in bewilderment.

"Ah, yer one of those naïve little chums, you are. Wouldn' know whu ah mean abou' middle class morali'y if it hit ye in the face. Ah'm Dolittle. Halfred P. Dolittle," he repeated.

"Freddie Einstford-Hill," he shook Dolittle's hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"There it is. An' already, on only firs' meetin' me, you get me with tha' 'pleasure to meet you' rubbish," he explained.

Freddie gave a nervous smile and nodded slightly.

"You posh-uns siy tha' to every bloomin' man or woman you meet. Ah reckon yeh'd even siy tha' ter the devil if you had the pleasure of meetin' him, too," He explained.

"Well, now you mention it that way..."

"So, as you middle class blokes siy, whut business have you 'ere in Brigh'on tha' made ya think yer could push into me like tha'?"

"Oh, I was just lost in my thoughts," he sighed dreamily.

"Thoughts. Dreams." He mocked. "Gov, you need ter get yersel' a girl."

"But can't you see? I've already found her. She just needs to find me." Alfie smiled.

"Well, ah got somethin' you might want. Not like ah need it anymore, though." Dolittle opened the little brown box to reveal the diamond ring. Freddie gasped. "O' course ah wouldn' gove it to ya fer free. Cost a good lot o' wages, tha' gem did. But ah don' want the lot of it; just enough fer a good ol' nigh' out on the tahn. Yeh can 'ave it fer – let's see – five pahnds?

"Five pounds?" Freddie questioned in disbelief, "But... it's a diamond ring; 18 carat gold!"

"Too much cash gets to a man's 'ead. Mikes him up with the middle class an' tha' twisted morali'y of theirs. Nah, 5 pahnds; tike it or leave it."

"I apologise, but I do find this offer too difficult to refuse. Are you sure that you don't mind, Sir," he asked uncomfortably.

"Ah couldn' give a ha'pence. It's no use ter me now; ah just want my drink, like any respec'able man should. Five pahnds – you want it?"

"Yes Sir, that would be positively delightful." Freddie reached into his pocket and produced a five pound note in exchange for the little brown box. "Thank you very much Sir!"

"Nah problem, chum."

"Well, I'd better be going," he said hurriedly, "It truly has been a pleasure to meet you. Goodbye."

"Good luck, chuck!" he said after the disappearing Freddie. "Five pahnds. Ah could've asked more... nah, tha's plen'y enough fer a drink or two. Ah got my little bi' o' luck as ah deserved," he admitted to himself. With that, he left the Pier in the direction of the nearest bar, whistling to the beat of his shoes on the tarmac.


	6. An Unceremonious Reunion

The evening had suddenly turned cold. Pickering gave a shiver and Eliza clung tightly to his arm. Eliza's step was out of time and ungraceful through fatigue; heaven forbid if Higgins saw. But Pickering decided not to disdain it as the girl was tired and there was plenty of time for Higgins to do that later. As the two turned the corner, there was no sunset blaze upon the cobblestones for glare of lamps flickering overhead. Like diamonds, thought Pickering. The shop windows were curtained with a burgundy reflection and lights flicked on one by one from the rooms upstairs. Shadows danced around their feet as they walked the cobbles. The bulge in Pickering's pocket seemed quite less than it had been before, but he hastily perished the thought. They passed the shop named 'Thornton's Confectioners, and leaning against the wall beneath a sign which in daylight hours read 'Buckingham Jewellers' stood a familiar silhouette. "Heaven knows what he'll say when he sees us," Pickering mumbled.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing Eliza," sighed the Colonel. Eliza gave him a questioning look. "Really, I do think it best that we leave the whole issue. Forget it ever happened. Higgins needn't know a thing," he said abruptly. As they drew close enough to make out the Professor's face, Pickering nervously thrust his hands into his pockets. A series of thoughts began to conflict inside his head as they trudged forwards. It was indeed a curious feeling. The thoughts seemed to flow from either side of his brain and meet at the front of his mind, clash then dissolve before he could make any sense of them. As he felt around inside the vast, empty interior of the pockets a certain thought began to unveil itself slowly inside his head and pushed itself into his mind like a brick wall. He felt a gathering hole somewhere inside his stomach as the emptiness of his pockets and the proximity of the professor and the jewellers' shop became increasingly apparent. He glanced in Higgins' direction. The Professor in his relaxed position did not appear aware of their presence. His eyes were glazed and unresponsive to their approach.

"Higgins," murmured the Colonel. The professor remained unmoved. "Higgins," he spoke again. No response. Pickering moved forwards.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know." Pickering stood next to Higgins and prodded him gently. "Higgins," he repeated. Suddenly the Professor gave a jolt.

"Pickering, for heaven's sake, do have a little decency!" he snapped. Pickering coughed apologetically. "It's practically dark. What the devil has been keeping you?" Pickering licked his lip and shuffled uncomfortably. "Well?"

"There was some minor business to attend to. Nothing crucial; I assure you, Higgins."

"Business, you say?"

"Well; conflicting affairs, to put it differently." Higgins drew a deep intake of breath and shot a scrutinising glance at the two. "Petty business, Higgins. Nothing to be concerned about," he reassured.

"I should hope not," he tutted. "I knew it was a mistake trusting that Freddie with Eliza in the taxi." Pickering gave Eliza a subtle sideways glance and she swallowed and stared grimly at her feet. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then bit her lip. "After all, he's hardly the punctual sort, is he?" the Professor remarked.

"Apparently not, Higgins," replied the Colonel tersely. Silence followed. Higgins folded his arms and reclined to lean on the brick wall behind him. Pickering's anxious hands searched his pockets once more. They were empty and of this there was no doubt in his mind. He tried to visualise a situation in which he could safely tip off Higgins, but immediately perished the thought. It was common sense to Pickering that anxiety over an anticipated event only ever made its outcome worse and that it was far better to settle matters with a clear mind as and when they came, yet as extensive planning, rehearsal and dread had been drilled into him during his military years like the Brighton branded rock in Thorntons Confectioners, it had never quite hit home to act upon the wisdom. Pickering waited gingerly for someone to speak. The distant waves crunched surge by surge at the pebbly beach and a clopping of hooves disappeared discreetly into a slowly approaching void. The edge of a solitary gull's cry sliced into the subtle rumble of the sea with a crass cry of "caw, caw; caw, caw".

It was quiet. Too quiet. Pickering glanced cautiously at the Professor, whose eyes turned quickly to Eliza then averted themselves in a brief moment. Pickering tried to carefully glimpse Eliza's expression, but she caught his glance and looked up sharply. It was she who broke the silence.

"Any plans for tea?" The Professor coughed.

"Not particularly; did you have anything in mind?" he mused.

"No. I was only asking."

"Well it's not as if there's any shortage of restaurants in Brighton," he smiled, returning to stand.

"Shall we set off, Higgins?" asked Pickering.

"Not unless you plan upon making a daytrip of standing here, no."

As they turned the corner from the alley onto the promenade, Eliza gasped. The front was illuminated with lamps and signs, and it was quite clear that there would be no problem finding a restaurant.

"Take your pick, Eliza," offered Higgins.

"Don't mind if I do. Let's see…" She scanned the front, but nothing caught her eye in particular; it was all bright. After all, they did at least have the sense to call it Brighton, she mused.

"Oh, come on Eliza or we'll be here all night. Look, how about that one on the end? It looks decent enough to me," decided Higgins. Yes, of course it wasn't Café Paris, butit woulddo, he concluded mentally. It wascertainly apparent enough, and not too shabby-looking. Yes, this would be quite satisfactory.

"Are you sure, Higgins?"

"Of course Pickering, it will be fine. Now come along; I do not wish to waste any more of this evening. We've done enough standing around as it is."


	7. Of Rings and Restaurants

The restaurant was set apart from the others. All along the row, gaudy fairy lights blinked and carnival music tinkled as tawdry couples swooned over each other and businessmen at business teas burbled at one another, regarding each other with equally courteous detachment. A few young boys marvelled at the pretty carnival lights, whilst little girls in fine, long dresses and straw boaters were shown by their mothers the art of table manners and napkin folding. Men staggered from the bursting pub on the corner with overflowing pints and raucous laughter. That'll be my dad, thought Eliza sceptically. But this restaurant was different. Resembling a large, wooden chalet, the light was dim and dappled by the flickering gas lamps. Fewer couples were swooning; fewer old women bantering or children chattering. Some men sat in overalls; some in modest dinner jackets with their wives or other protégés. It was noticeably quieter here. As they entered the outside dining area and waited for service, they were immediately greeted by an older, but smartly dressed waiter and taken to a table close to the front. Higgins cleared his throat.

"Well, are you going to leave us standing here until this time next year, or are you going to be a good chap give us a menu?"

"Sorry, Sir," mumbled the waiter.

"There's a good man."

"Higgins, I think I'll draw the line at encouraging this sort of behaviour. It is hardly exemplary towards the girl," Pickering warned.

"Why not, in heaven's name?"

"Well, it just seems a bit… outward," he said hesitantly, "Maybe you should try a more subtle approach."

"My approach, Pickering, is infallible," he rebuked, sitting down resolutely in his seat, "And if you have a problem then I suggest you should leave and allow me to enjoy my own meal," he said in a more casual tone, rearranging his napkin and utensils.

"Higgins; I imply nothing but that I just think perhaps a little more circumspection is in order."

"We needed a menu, and so I asked!" he thundered. "It's called common sense and intuition, Pickering."

"Is it now, Higgins?" he said cynically, taking a seat.

"Yes, it is," he concluded brusquely. "Eliza, you'd better sit down."

"No thank you, Professor Higgins," she said coolly, "I think I shall leave to powder my nose." With that, she strode to the door; head held up high, with a chic edge in her step. Higgins' jaw dropped, then a subtle smile played upon his lips.

"Well I'll be damned!"

"I do entreat you not to swear, Higgins," he frowned. Ignoring him, the Professor continued with a grin of awestruck satisfaction.

"I do believe we have a lady in our midst!"

"Indeed we do, if you call can truthfully regard such behaviour as the attitude of a lady," he said warily.

"Pickering, I do pray; whatever is your problem? If a woman has strength, class, a thick skin and a detestation of time-wasting shenanigans – if a woman can truly be more like a man, then – then that's precisely what we have set out to accomplish, isn't it?"

"Positively not!" the Colonel retorted decisively. "Higgins, I was never in the business of corrupting London's flower girls!"

"Well, it's what I'd do if I were in her position," he remarked passively.

"Corrupt young girls?"

"No, Pickering; I would tersely leave with the sophistication and style with which the girl has demonstrated."

"And you believe that makes a lady?" he enquired sternly. The professor shrugged impassively.

"Well, if it makes a gentleman then I find little reason why it should not make a lady also," he commented casually, "You know, I rather like Eliza this way; I find hers the most attractive sort of attitude which truly conveys a strength of character and a mode of thinking accomplished by the most rational of minds and the most decent of fellows. Yes, I _like_ Eliza this way," he concluded fervently.

"That's what I find concerning," Pickering murmured. Higgins erupted.

"Concerning? _My_ attitude, concerning?" he thundered, "Why, my dear Pickering –"

"There you are!" exclaimed a voice. The man's breathing was laboured. He tipped his hat and continued, "I ran all the way. Are you with Miss Doolittle?"

"Freddie Einstford Hill! Whatever have you come for? What do you want with Eliza?" Higgins interrogated rudely. The Colonel shook his head in shame.

"I wish to ask a favour of you two gentlemen - in regard of the lady I am most terribly fond of," he stammered, nervously fingering the rim of his hat.

"Go on," he exhorted.

"Do you know with whom she resides – and where? I wish to ask for her hand in marriage."

"Her hand in marriage!" the Professor spluttered. "Eliza is with Pickering and I, and her leave is permanently nonnegotiable!"

"Yes, but…" Freddie struggled, "Kind Sirs, I believe that Eliza may love me."

"What does it matter who Eliza loves?" He replied angrily, rising from his seat, "She resides with the Colonel and I, and that is how I intend our situation to remain!"

"Higgins, I must intervene," began Pickering, "I do believe that Eliza has a right to determine her own future. After all, a future was all we desired for her, is it not?"

"But – but what about the bet, Pickering; the Embassy Ball?" Higgins coaxed.

"Higgins! This is not the place or company in which we should discuss those affairs," Pickering cried hurriedly, motioning to the confounded Freddie.

"I see, so better the marriage that the scandal is concealed; is that what you're saying?

Ho!A fine sport it is, towatchincriminating secret haunt Eliza with the possibility of its revelation until the end of her days, and damn her when it does!" Higgins retorted fiercely.

"Gentlemen, please," pleaded the distressed Freddie, "I wish to cause no inconvenience; I merely ask for her hand in marriage." Pickering swallowed, then continued.

"Higgins, as carer and guardian of the girl, I feel it is my duty to let her decide her own future."

"You were never pronounced neither," grumbled the Professor, leaning against a wooden wall support.

"Then kind Mr Pickering, if you do not mind my enquiry, of what relation are you to Miss Doolittle?Are she and your gentleman friend currently engaged?Whatdoes shecurrently doat your place of residence?" Pickering glanced sternly at the Professor and prompted him to reply.

The Professor sighed deeply and wearily, and treaded wearily to his seat. He gazed stonily at the Colonel with a bleak remorse. Pickering swallowed, and like a cold lump of clay the truth filled his insides with a slow, repentant chill. He looked away.

"Higgins, would you rather –" he began. He stopped. The Professor opened his mouth and drew a deep breath. He bit his lower lip. He looked downwards and spoke into the tablecloth.

"Freddie, I declare that Colonel Pickering is Eliza's lawful guardian. Her future is in his hands," he said coldly.

"Mr Pickering, may I marry your darling child?"

"As you have seen, Professor Higgins and I would be most sorry to let her go, but by law, order and morals I believe it is her choice, and her choice alone if we may visit her once in a while."

"Of course."

"Then I suppose that settles it," sighed Pickering. "Have you a ring for her?"

"Yes indeed. Would you like to see it?"

"If I must," said the Professor gloomily. He reached into his pocket and produced a small, brown box. It sat innocently there in the palm of his hand, as if unaware of the clamour its smooth, cubic and slightly bruised being could produce – let alone that of its tenant, or, in fact, of its tenant at all. Humbly as a child in all its purity the box lay, and the box alone, in its truth, was proof enough to suffice the bleak inevitability.

"Pickering," started Higgins. Suddenly, all three stopped dead. It was a nauseating sound. Simple yet destructive, like the crackle of crumpling paper unknowingly destined as the heat and fuel of coals on a smouldering hearth, clipped a pair of ladies' heels across the wooden boards.

"Eliza."


	8. Tasting the Port

Suddenly there was a noisy scuffle as the brown box was whipped away. Higgins stared at Pickering, then to the emerging Eliza, then at Freddie. He turned on Pickering and gaped. Pickering shrugged submissively. "Pickering, what on the damned face of this earth…"

"Higgins, I deny all association with Mr Einstford Hill; we never spoke. It was safe in my pocket until a short while ago," he replied quickly.

"A _short while_ ago?" he thundered, "You mean you _knew_…" Higgins was silenced by Eliza's approach. She pulled out a chair, then decided to remain standing.

"Is there a problem? What was safe until a short while ago?" she questioned hurriedly at the two bachelors.

"Nothing, darling," interjected Freddie gently. "Would you like to sit down with us, Miss Dolittle? It would be most pleasant to dine in your company tonight."

"Is that so?" remarked Higgins incredulously, "Well Pickering, I believe that someone has made himself rather at home with us this evening!"

"Let it go, Higgins. We don't need any more trouble tonight. Sit down," Pickering commanded. In a mixture of reluctance and mild surprise, Higgins obeyed sulkily. Another pair of feet traversed the boarded floor to approach the table.

"Are you ready to order drinks, Sirs?" croaked the voice of the elderly waiter.

"No, I'll quite gladly thirst to death if it pleases you," responded Higgins huffily. "If you want to be useful you can bring us some port."

"Right away, Sir!" the waiter replied, turning to the door. Higgins sighed. He had a feeling that this was to be a long night, and strongly considered letting the cat out of the bag just to get it over with earlier, but for his loathing of such dramatic overtures, he concluded to let things take their own course.

"Professor Higgins, are you quite alright?" questioned Eliza. "It would be quite a shame if anything were to be troubling you on such a fine night," she pronounced in studied perfection, "And this evening has shown us something of a commotion. I do believe that some small talk would be most pleasant," she cooed demurely.

"No, I'm fine." he said bluntly.

Folding his arms, he felt a long, thin bulge in the breast pocket of his jacket, which almost invariably had to be a pen. As the hard-soled shoes paced once again towards the table, he was struck with an idea.

"Your port, Gentlemen," the waiter murmured as he placed the bottle on the table then turned his back to serve another table.

"Thank you most awfully, Sir," said Freddie, half to himself.

Higgins placed the napkin in front of him on his lap, and discreetly snuck the pen beneath the table. He caught a glimpse of Freddy, who was now sharing a rather amiable conversation with Eliza, resisted the urge to retch, and etched Pickering's name on the top of the underside. He thought for a while about how to put his message concisely, excused himself in search of an apparently lost cufflink, and descended beneath the tablecloth. There it was. The brown box was open in Freddie's hand, and he caressed the diamond ring as tenderly as if it were his darling's own hair. Higgins muttered a curse beneath his breath and scribbled a few lines. He immersed after a few minutes and placed the napkin and pen onto the lap of a puzzled-looking Pickering.

"Found it," he announced to an unresponsive audience.

Freddie poured himself a glass, brought the port to his lips and tasted it briefly. "Miss Dolittle, do taste the port; I am sure that you will find it quite delicious." Higgins filled his glass and took a gulp.

"Hmm, not bad," he concluded, squinting. "The aftertaste is satisfactory; other than that it's the worst rubbish I've ever tasted," he said flatly, roughly slamming down his glass. Eliza giggled quietly and glanced at Freddie.

"Well, _I_ thought that you would enjoy it," murmured Freddie. "I do have a sweeter taste than most. I find that romance and fine port couple beautifully with a fair night as this and a fair lady to share it with; don't you think so, darling? Given your company and that beautiful sunset, one couldn't have spent the evening better," he smiled.

"Certainly," she replied uncomfortably, "However, I think that it would be most fitting to save such thoughts until we have drunk a little more port."

"Why, darling?"

"Well, I thought that perhaps it would not be quite decent in the given…" Eliza trailed off and Freddie gave her a look of uncertainty. Higgins tutted. It was so unbelievably typical of Freddie to be slow about such things as subtlety that Higgins found it almost impossible not to feel irritated. And he could be such a dreadful bore. How Eliza could bear to listen to this inane crooning was beyond him; thus, he took it upon himself to save the situation.

"What Eliza is trying to tell you, _Fred_," he droned with an air of sardonic fatigue, "is that you could really do with a better sense of occasion. If Eliza in her right mind were to choose a tactless sap for a husband, for want of a better word, I swear that I would eat my own hat – and yours."

"Higgins!" growled Pickering.

"Merely stating a free opinion," he remarked humbly.

"There is a time and place for free opinions, Higgins." A smile briefly played on Eliza's lips then disappeared. Thank God for that, Higgins prayed silently.

"I was merely saying that I have enjoyed spending this evening with Miss Dolittle," Freddie continued, pouring himself out a second glass. He stopped and glanced around each member of the table; an anxious look about his face. "Have I said anything I oughtn't?" Eliza could not stifle a chuckle. Pickering glanced down to his lap. His eyes did not move for a minute, then he looked up at Higgins and frowned. Higgins nodded solemnly. Pickering subtly took the pen in his hand and began to write.


	9. A Little More Port

Pickering etched the word 'Higgins' firmly into the back of the napkin, turned it over and began to think

Pickering etched the word 'Higgins' firmly into the back of his own napkin, keeping Higgins' safely in his lap. He turned it over and began to think. No matter how hard he tried, it would be quite impossible to inform Higgins of what happened to the ring at all, whether Higgins was to give the game away or not. He glanced over at the other residents of the table. Freddie was still speaking in soft, amiable tones to Eliza, who had by now glazed over. Higgins was watching gruellingly, although not concentrating enough to see Freddie's half-preoccupation with his own little sub-table conspiracy, despite Freddie being through his second generous helping of the port. Pickering put his pen to the napkin and began to write. Poor Higgins, he thought to himself. With regards to this and his message, it seemed that he and Higgins weren't the only ones engrossed in secret dealings. Of course, Pickering reminded himself; Freddie didn't know that the ring wouldn't presently be resting at his fingertips if only _he_ hadn't gone and…

"Dinner is served!" rang a voice from behind. Freddie jumped.

"A bit late on the jumping, Freddie?" remarked Eliza in a bemused tone. "Perhaps it's something in the port."

"Perhaps it is", drawled Higgins in a half-pensive, half-sardonic tone. Without another word, the waiter took a dish from the tray and placed it before Higgins with a shaky hand. Higgins wrinkled his nose.

"It had better not be salmon."

"Dish of the day, Sir. The salmon is our specialty."

"Oh, darn it."

"You wouldn't like a hand, Sir?" Freddie asked. The waiter nodded and he ascended, placing his goods on the chair next to Pickering. Suddenly, Higgins was livid. He pointed vigorously at the chair. _"Pickering, the ring!"_ he mouthed urgently, _"Take it now!" _Pickering glanced down at the chair to see the brown box and – of all things – a folded napkin. He might have known that they were all playing at the same game. _"Pickering!"_ mouthed Higgins fiercely. No, it would be immoral. It would be stealing. It would cause a commotion – a scandal, even. But then ring wasn't his… or was it? His mind spun. It wouldn't have been Freddie's if only _he_ hadn't… _"Pickering!"_ mouthed Higgins hopelessly, as Freddie pulled back his chair again. His mind was swimming. It _was_ stealing, wasn't it? No, it was only a napkin. But the ring? Freddie sat down, and Pickering was filled with a sinking disappointment.

"So Mr Pickering," Freddie began casually, "how did you and Mr Higgins come to meet Miss Dolittle?" Pickering cleared his throat.

"Well, I suppose one could say –" Higgins sprung to life.

"It was a spring night at the opera at Covent Garden," he interjected urgently, "and Pickering and I had just happened to meet Eliza outside, whilst waiting for a taxi. I noticed that she was in want of an escort home, and so I suggested…" Higgins burbled on noisily, and the relieved Pickering reclined deeply into his chair. In his Boy Scout years, he had always been fond of Chinese Whispers, although now he was rather unsure. Freddie was now chatting animatedly to Eliza again; who responded with strategically timed nods ornamented with the occasional laugh.

Suddenly, he received an unmistakable kick under the table. He looked up at Higgins involuntarily. Higgins gestured sharply at him. _"Well?"_ he mouthed. Well, what? Thought Pickering. Higgins narrowed his eyes and Pickering frowned, puzzled. Another message? Good Lord, he remarked inwardly, this was beginning to resemble carrier pigeon post. And yet, where was this message? Surely Higgins must have dropped it. Yes; that seemed the most agreeable explanation. Higgins gave Pickering a panicked glance. He mused that he could possibly write Higgins another one to calm him a bit; after all, the fellow had been through a lot that evening. Defeatedly, Higgins resigned himself.

"Miss Dolittle," he asked, motioning to her clean napkin, "You don't suppose I may use this napkin of yours?"

"Certainly, Colonel Pickering."

"Pass the port," Higgins cut in, "It'll give me something at least to wash the salmon down. I've no plans to starve this evening. Pour me a glass would you, Pick?"

"Yes, Higgins." Pickering passed the bottle first to Freddy, who poured out a new glass for himself, then passed it along to Higgins.

"Damn! It's empty!" he remarked. "Pick, order some more port, would you?"

"That's quite alright," said Freddie, "I would be more than happy to order it myself. I am rather fond of it."

"So we've all noticed," muttered Higgins under his breath.

"What was that, Professor Higgins?" asked Eliza pertly.

"What was what?"

"It doesn't matter now. Anyhow, I think I've forgotten-"

"Glad to hear it," he uttered nonchalantly.

The message was almost finished. As Pickering knew, tactics had to be timed to perfection if you were to come away with any sort of victory. But still, there was more he could say, and better ways of putting it.

"I say, good Sirs," broke in Freddie, "Let us have some more port too, if you would be so kind."

"But it was only five minutes ago that you asked for your last glass," remarked Eliza incredulously.

"Why of course, darling; it's very decent port."

"Very well then," replied Higgins with a badly-concealed smirk. "Pickering?"

The moment had to be now if it was to work. Over the table would go the port; under it would go the message – both of them in fact, he decided. Then Higgins would be fully aware of what was going on. It would be an infallible plan. Pickering rose from his chair. The bottle was on the other side of the table; closer to Higgins than it was to him. The message hovered in his outstretched hand under the table, whilst he balanced himself over it. A hand snatched the note away; he grasped the port and sat down again. The dealings were done. Pickering closed his eyes briefly and nudged Higgins with his foot. Curiously, Higgins nudged him back. It was probably his way of saying that everything was all right. Poor Higgins, he thought; this whole experience must be trying, and he has certainly been very gallant about it. Pickering returned to watch the pair. Freddie was still chatting gaily to Eliza, who appeared to be listening patiently. If Pickering could find it within himself to grant Freddie one compliment, it was the fact that Freddie certainly knew how to talk. It was a vague, nondescript accent, and yet it seemed to communicate an air of middle class gentility as each phrase flowed into another in a poetic string – not unlike Pickering's own Sanskrit. He was a sociable, rosy-cheeked fellow, he reckoned, and his dilating pupils seemed to glint with – was that amiable vitality, or was there something else? Good heavens – what a thought! Eliza appeared only to contribute to his extended monologue with a 'yes', or an 'uh-huh.' To Pickering's mind, there were hundreds of women who desired nothing better than to spend their lives hanging onto the edge of every word their husbands said, but Eliza was different. She was a curious soul in her own right, and had until now been little short of a ray of sunshine in the lives of two bachelors residing in a gloomy basement flat. Watching the glint in the young man's eye, part of him felt as if he had already given her away – and how ironically to a man who most savoured her voice; her clothes; her genteel manners. All that was left to confirm its reality was the official proposal, and there was no doubt in his mind that it would come soon. Nevertheless, Pickering reasoned, it did no good to dwell on doubts and morbid speculation. What mattered was the matter at hand, which was that Pickering now lacked a means by which to communicate discreetly with Higgins.

"There don't happen to be any, er, spare napkins, do there?" he asked uncomfortably. Eliza's eyes suddenly widened.

"Yes, yes of course, Colonel Pickering! I have a spare one just here," she said hurriedly, producing an additional crumpled napkin from her lap, "I haven't used it – it's just a bit… well, I might have sat on it." she added quickly, "Please – write – I mean wipe - away. Your nose, that is," she added bashfully. Freddie let out an impulsive guffaw and Eliza leaned her elbows on the table to rub her eyes. She gave a cursory glance in Higgins' direction, but he merely gritted his teeth, said nothing, and passed the port bottle to back to Freddie.

Higgins stared at Eliza's crumpled napkin. He turned it over, to find that it was in fact addressed 'Miss Dolittle'. He could hardly believe his eyes. In black, miniscule handwriting, there was a message.

'Dearest Miss Dolittle,

If one could describe within one incarnate being the mellow coolness of the Spring moon and the majesty of the stars above; the chaste freshness of June buds; the gold-flecked hazel painted into leaves of autumn;'

Pickering unfolded a flap of the napkin, and continued to read.

'…all of that, my darling, you are – and more.'

With a suspicious sniff, Pickering unfolded the napkin further.

'I give you a gift: a silver moon to dwell upon your barren finger. Proclaim just one word tonight, and this concealed moment will be exchanged for a lifetime of love.

Yours in adoration,

Freddie.'

Pickering's heart sank. He glanced upwards. Suddenly, Eliza turned away from Freddie and shot a pleading stare in Pickering's direction. The concerned Pickering frowned sympathetically, holding her gaze for a moment. Eliza shook her head gently.

"What was that, my love?" slurred a voice from behind her.

"Nothing much. I-I just thought I saw someone."

"I've feel like that every time I look into your eyes. You have truly beautiful eyes, darling. The day we first met – I thought I'd seen you somewhere before. Of course, it was in my dreams, sweetheart," he murmured, clumsily stroking her arm, "All in my dreams." Eliza sighed with a hint of impatience.

Pickering regarded the rough manner with which Higgins helped himself to the port bottle. As he brought the glass to his lips, Higgins' eyes met Eliza's briefly, who consequently stared down at the table.

"Have I said anything…"

"I said I'd make a Queen of you," interrupted Higgins with sluggish pensiveness, "and a Queen I have." Higgins took another deep swig from his glass and a cringing wave of dread swept through Pickering. Could the old boy steep so low? In his regiment, minor self-inflicted wounds were common amongst the frightened boys who wished to be sent home on the grounds of illness, but it had always been a punishable offence; dealt with in the same manner as mutineers and other traitors of the realm (that is, capital punishment by firing squad). Higgins, however, was not only shooting himself in the foot, but he was simultaneously digging his own grave.

"Higgins," he started urgently. Higgins ignored him.

"A rogue Queen. A Queen yielding to the visceral subtleties that gather at the depths of our damned and confounded Societal conformations. I have created a shrew of the first order. Freddie's fair draggle-tail, ho! And long live Shakespeare!" he drawled wildly, raising his empty glass and slamming it down on the table.

"Well, I suppose it's only natural for you to be a little bitter," attempted Freddie nervously. "I do admit; when we first met, to see Eliza under your arm, I myself was somewhat overcome for want of the privilege."

"Bitterness; envy; jealousy. Such grand sentiments of Miltonic complexity. So you believe that the pleasure is all yours now, eh? Now that you have tamed my shrew. Well, my dear _Fred_, it all depends on whether you allow your darling Eliza to enlighten you."

"I _beg_ your pardon?" A twinge of challenge rose in Freddie's tone as he shot a glance at Eliza, then back to Higgins. Eliza gave a pleading look. Higgins' fist came down on the table top with a clumsy thud.

"Jealousy, ho! That green-eyed monster that doth mock the meat it feedeth on! What else would I be talking about, damned fool; what else?" he thundered. Suddenly, Pickering stood up. The table fell silent.

"Please excuse me," he muttered, shuffling his chair in. "I would appreciate some fresh air."


	10. Nine Tenths of the Law

The air was cool and a solitary gull cawed into the absence of sea-sound

The air was cool and a gull cawed into the absence of sea-sound. Pickering sniffed and twiddled his thumbs. In the dimness of the dusk, a half-shadow fell upon Pickering's face; sharpening the lines and creases to dramatic proportions. The remains of the sun glowed, translucent, through the white hair he had left. As the wind sucked at his chapped features Pickering felt the pressing weight of old age like a heavy hand. Of course, he reckoned, it was only fair to allow the girl to enjoy her youth whilst she still had it, but marrying her off was a step further than he had wanted it to go, and, as he was all but sure, further than Higgins had wanted it to go – as of yet. No part of him had ever denied that Higgins' bet was going to be farfetched, but he felt it now more than ever. At the age of twenty-one, dressed in all her finery in a restaurant on the Brighton pier, Eliza was indeed beautiful, but within the next twenty years… at the very least, her age would betray this mock-up façade which Higgins seemed bent on creating for her, and then what would become of Mrs Einstford Hill? At least in India the caste system was absolute: once an untouchable, always an untouchable, and whilst Eliza had been a lady the moment she first walked through Higgins' front door as far as Pickering was concerned; try as he might, the least unsavoury vision of future he could conjure for her was to grow old with himself and Higgins under the roof of 27a Wimpole Street.

"Blimey, Guv'nor! Standin' there with a face like a month o' Mondays! Got the bird, you did, didn' you, eh?" A broad, jesting guffaw spilled from the rough lips of the ruddy-faced man and he took a swig from his flagon.

"Dolittle!" Pickering gave a start. "Alfred Dolittle, this is an important time. You might wish to come inside. Eliza's -"

"Ginger, you're barmy. Nah, ah'll get chucked out, guv'nor," he slurred. "Not 'middle class' enough. No finery; no grace; no middle class manners," he gestured, exaggeratedly, "No gold drippin' dahn me waistcoat pocket. An' I don' give a ha'pence – they can have i'. F'they want to be untollable ah c'n go elsewhere."

"The Professor Higgins is about to give Eliza away, and I would like to do this as decently as possible."

"Whu's not decen'? Ah gev 'im five pahnds for 'er."

"Do you not care to give consent to your own daughter's marriage, Alfred?"

"Eliza's gettin' 'ooked?"

"Yes, man," Pickering said emphatically.

"Well, gor blimey!"

"I thought you might like to come inside and preside over the arrangement." Dolittle sobered.

"Yeh "though' ah migh' lahk to", did yeh? Well, ah don' lahk to. Ah told yeh, guv. She hain't worth 'er keep at home, an' ah don' wan' nathin ter do with the middle class. She got herself inter it. She can chuck a bit of 'er riches back at 'er ol' father every so often. Ah c'n respec' tha' out o' the middle class." He paused, as if ruminating over his own sentiments; staring at a brick in the wall. "But tha' don' mike it my bus'niss," he added feverishly.

"Dolittle, I must ask you to stop," said Pickering sternly, "Your daughter is about to marry a certain Freddie Einsford Hill. Have you nothing to say? Do you not wish to meet your prospective son-in-law? Have you no morals, man?" Pickering asked with rising indignance. Dolittle frowned.

"Freddie Ahynstfoard Hill, Freddie…yeh dahn' say… yeh jas' dahn' say…" he murmured, shaking his head.

"You've met the man?"

"Ah've met 'im alrigh'," said Dolittle, with a grave roughness, "'Pleasure ter meet yeh'", he crooned mockingly, "'Jas lost in my thoughts.' Whu's Eliza want wiv 'im?" he exhorted, raising his voice, "Whu's she wantin' wiv 'im? I ask you, guv'nor, whu' did that professor do to Eliza? I'll tell yer whu' 'er did; 'e took 'er good mind and sent it ter bloody seed." He hurled his half-empty beer flagon to the ground.

"Mr Dolittle, please…" The dustman continued, oblivious.

"The kind a bloke who'd bawy a dahmond ring fer fahve pahnd from a comman dastman – fahve pahnd! 'E's middle class, inn'e? Whu's she tryin' ter do, ruin 'er own father?" Dolittle stormed on; Pickering's eyes widened and his face paled. He took a sharp intake of breath.

"The ring?" The words tumbled out of his dry mouth.

"…an' he hain't even got no more than ah hev. Next thing, she'll be touchin' on me for money, for the fine clothes and the jewellry an' all the clean, fancy living. Ah, the flahr baskit c'n go the way of all flesh;" he exclaimed bitterly, "'Course, she's a lidy now, an' marrid to a middle class gent! Now yeh c'n tell ya bloody professor where ta-" Pickering grasped Dolittle's arms and shook him. Dolittle broke off mid-sentence, stunned under the old man's iron grip.

"Dolittle, the ring! Tell me what you know about the ring," he said sharply.

"So help me guv, ah fahnd it," rushed Dolittle. "It was lyin' on the floor jas now."

"You – you mean to say you…" Pickering stammered, then paused, regaining his composure. "Dolittle, that ring belonged to the Professor Henry Higgins," he said impressively. "Why in heaven's name didn't you turn it into the police?"

"Could'a belonged to hanyone for all ah knowed it," responded Dolittle humbly, "Lahk ah said, I jast fahnd it on the floor. Ah'm the undeservin' poor, ah c'n get by, but I hain't got no money fer no middle class morals, an' now Eliza's goin' to marry the middle class' poor with the undeservin', ah c'n expec' nathin' but shame, an' hardship an' labour. Now what's tha' to do to your poor, ol' father? The Lord above didn' mike me fa' your middle class ways. They'll send me to the workhouse an' whip me like a dog. An ol' man like me. Like you, guv," he said reflectively, shrugging his shoulders under Pickering's tentatively loosening grip. "And what'd the police do with a dahmond ring hanyways?" he mused gloomily, "Posession's nine tenths of the law; they know tha' an' I know tha' an' you know tha'. Be human, guv'nor."

For a brief moment, neither of the men spoke and a mutual look passed between them. If not by any means one of warmth, it carried the distant respect that acknowledged a shared grievance. Pickering unhanded Dolittle, feeling his cheeks burn.

"We can stop the proceedings now, Alfred, if you wish," he said quietly.


	11. Showdown

Higgins did not like this silence. Freddie had already tried to whisk Eliza away since Pickering's departure in a swoop of insipidly self-righteous, impotent bravado, and begrudgingly, Higgins knew that one more word from him would prompt the priggish wretch to steal her away for good. Nonetheless, it had surprised him to see that the sap had substance, even if this substance constituted more of the sort of po-faced, wounded gaze that could be expected from a buttoned-up doublet-clad Romeo without a rapier than anything he could actually command with those passionate, elaborate – but alas! – substanceless words of his (although had he borrowed from the Bard himself he might have won an ounce of esteem in Higgins' eyes).

Suddenly the door swung open. Pickering had finally decided that it was time to save the day – that is, once he could ensure that the danger had already pitched its fatal blow and the day was beyond saving. The thought filled him with bitterness. If both Pickering and Freddie could take flight at the sign of conflict, it left the remaining party with no option but to assume the role of disgraced aggressor. And all he was trying to do was to protect what was rightfully his! Yet, he asked himself gloomily, was there a single notable story in literary history which deigned not to glorify the thief and vilify the cuckolded? It was at least of some consolation to think that although he might have expected Eliza to escape with Freddie for the sake of her vanity and the romantic ideas that millennia of literature had put into her head, she had not done so. Vain as he knew her to be, she had been unwilling to give herself over to Freddie, even though it would have allowed her to play the dying swan, so call it. The hope which this defiance afforded him surprised him a little.

"Gentlemen," said Pickering, slightly short of breath, "We must halt the proceedings. Mr Dolittle has decided to preside over the arrangements," he uttered, pronouncing the name "Mr Dolittle" somewhat more slowly and a little more forcefully than the others, as if inadvertently trying to highlight Dolittle's paternity, which Pickering's utterance, however discreet it may have appeared, deliberately implied. He entered the room, followed by the stench of stale alcohol and the professional flavour of dust which hovered like an aura around the inebriated man behind him. Freddie's face assumed a pale, perplexed expression. Higgins could barely conceal his horror.

"Alfred?" he said incredulously, "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Let me put it to ya: ah come for my nigh' on the tahn like any respec'able man then this chappie here comes up, accuses me of stealin' yer dahmond ring an' tells me you was marryin' off Eliza to a bloody skinflint!" Dolittle hammered his fist on the table. "Whu'ya _think_ ah'm doin' 'ere for?"

"That is _quite_ enough!" roared Higgins impressively.

"Higgins, please," urged Pickering, motioning towards Freddie, "Have a little restraint. This man is Eliza's father," he said with a self-conscious, steely emphasis which he appeared to regret the moment the words had escaped his lips, "and he has a right to marry her to whom he chooses."

"An' ah say 'e's righ'. After all, ah brough' 'er up by the sweat o' me brow, ah taugh' 'er ter speak, an' ter live, an' to earn her own keep. An' thanks to the groundin' ah given 'er she knows enough ter be a good girl an' stand on 'er own two feet. Guvn'ors all, I done all any father coulda done for 'is own daugh'a so's she could grow up an' mike 'erself interestin' to gen'lemen like you. Would you 'ave the nerve to deprive a poor man like me of the fruit o' me own swea'ed labour?"

"You believe the blackguard has a _right_?" Higgins thundered, "My dear Pickering, these words on your lips! What claim could this man possibly hold over Eliza? Possession is nine tenths of the law; did your military years teach you nothing at all? It was _I_ who picked the wretch off the streets -"

"Higgins, please don't..."

"_I_ who took her out of the rags she came in -"

"Stop..." he cringed, as Freddie simply sat, his mouth agape, and watched Higgins proceed.

"_I_ who washed off twenty years of filth and grime and dressed her in fine clothes –"

"Well I_ never..._" uttered Freddie to himself in a hushed, horrified whisper, without daring to steal a glance at his darling dearest.

"It was _I_ who fed her, and _I_ who lodged her, and _I_ who removed that dreadful, crooning Lisson Grove drawl from her lips..."

"Stop!" cried Pickering, "For the sake of your dignity and Eliza's I command you to stop this instant!"

"... then," bellowed the impervious Higgins, "Nonetheless discontent to thieve away this squashed cabbage leaf of Covent Garden, I purchased her for five pounds from this very dustman before you! You witnessed it all yourself!"

"But she's my daugh'er, en' she?" chimed in Dolittle hopefully.

At that moment a clatter rang out on the floor. "Blimey, it's Eliza!" cried Dolittle. Of the original three diners at the table only Higgins and Freddie remained. Almost knocking over the stunned Freddie, Pickering rushed over to the place where Eliza had been sitting and an expression of shock took over his features. Higgins pulled his chair out with a noisy scrape and shuffled over to take a look. There Eliza lay, sprawled out across the floor and the overturned chair in a dead faint, surrounded by a heap of crumpled napkins ornamented with the calligraphy of various different hands. Higgins and Pickering looked at each other, then at Freddie. A moment of uncomfortable silence ensued.

"I... I think I ought to be leaving," stammered Freddie. Higgins levelled a baleful glare at him, and he rose, slowly, timidly, from his chair. "After all, it is rather late – and the circumstances rather unfortunate – and," he added hastily, "If you let me at another glass of that port, I daresay I would take a tumble myself, and that certainly _would _be uncalled for. Good evening Sirs, and thank you for affording me the privilege of your company!" With that, he hurried off before any of the three men could stop him.

"Gor blimey..." murmured Dolittle, rising from his seat.

"Higgins, I think it is time we took Eliza home," Pickering broke in. "She has been demoralised enough for one evening."

"Indeed," he said soberly, staring at the unconscious Eliza. The salmon pink of her coat seemed to accentuate the pallor of her skin. A mass of wispy copper hair covered her face, revealing a neat, sharp jaw line and the delicate hollow where her finely sculpted collarbones sank into the milky base of her porcelain neck. Beneath them the crests of two gentle swells of flesh emerged, soft and pure like the downy, regal breast of a swan.

"But guvna, whurrabou' the –"

Pickering shook his head darkly then picked up Eliza's chair and set it upright. "Higgins, we're leaving," he repeated. Solemnly and silently, Higgins continued to stare, and as he did so he began to realise that though he might well have made a lady of Eliza, the vision of womanliness that lay before him on the floor had a generic, formidable magnificence about it which no man could aspire to attain or fabricate – and that were Eliza not a lady, she would be no less richly endowed with it. An immobilised, silent and unconscious figure, at that moment the full force of her femaleness struck him for the first time; perhaps because he had been too busy trying to tame the wretched shrew that he hadn't had time to notice it before.

"But whurrabou' the ring?"

"Let's go home, Pick," he uttered wearily. "We can doze off in the cab."

"Righto. Dolittle, accompany your daughter to the taxi rank and tell the driver to take you to 27a Wimpole Street. I will reimburse you when we arrive."

"But the ring – the dahmond ring..."

"Leave it until tomorrow, Dolittle."


	12. Morning Has Broken

"… and Mrs Pearce?" came the tired, muffled voice of Higgins from the other side of the bedroom door, "Try to break it to the girl gently, won't you?" With both hands occupied by the breakfast tray, Mrs Pearce was in no position to open the door to respond to him. Mr Jeeves the butler passed and gave her a knowing glance. She raised her eyebrows dubiously with a slight shrug. It was an unconventional request on all accounts, but then Higgins was not a conventional sort of man. Upon his return he had seemed out of sorts, and she had seen him in better states at that time in the morning. As for Eliza, she spoke barely a word, and she looked deathly pale. Mrs Pearce suspected that the excitement of the day had taken its toll on the girl, but she knew how thoughtless Professor Higgins could be, and it took so little to bruise Eliza's pride. She wished he would make a more personal gesture; the girl had such sentimental ideas, and she feared that the entire experience would be quite a disappointment, if not an outrage.

Mrs Pearce nudged the tray against the door. "Your tea, Eliza. May I come in?"

"Yes. Good morning, Mrs Pearce." Mrs Pearce set the tray down on the bedside dresser. Eliza yawned noisily. "Ugh… I have such a frightful headache. It must've been the port." She sat up.

"Was Professor Higgins unpleasant to you yesterday evening?" asked Mrs Pearce sternly.

"He was, yes… he acted everso strangely. But I think it had something to do with Freddie. He was making advances, and I suppose –" as Eliza took the handle of the teacup in her fingers, something metal clinked against the saucer. She looked down and her eyes widened. A confounded look came across her face.

"Professor Higgins requested that I deliver this to you. I tried to insist that he present it to you himself, but as you say, he has been acting in a terribly peculiar manner ever since he arrived." As Eliza beheld the diamond ring the corners of her mouth slowly rose into a smile that she seemed to be unsuccessfully struggling to conceal in the manner of one who tries, fruitlessly, not to laugh at a bad joke.

"No Mrs Pearce, there's no need… I understand now." Eliza examined the ring closely, then with a shrug and a chortle, slipped it onto the middle finger of her left hand, pulled back the bedcovers and got out of bed with a stretch to start the new day.


End file.
